Tastebuds
by ChaosGriffin
Summary: For what's its worth Mabase is a city of tongues, in which you take someone till the flavor is all gone and spit the pit out later.


Mamimi knows that taste is everything.

The barest hint of ash invokes and envelopes her innermost thoughts. Their first meeting, his first words, his last goodbyes, and _his_ very random smile, scant to show, but always cherished for its appearance. All these thoughts and more roll in and out of her mind, with an intake of nicotine and an outtake of smoke. She may never know best, but she knows what is close to heart. Not the lively fire which may bring death, but the ash of remembrance and the sour dregs of growing up are they. Yet Mamimi understands, and accepts, that what she wants and counts upon isn't everything. She may see life for all it is, but there will always be a craving for _before_. And some sugar, much like love of the child, will do just that. It freezes the clock for the barest of moments and lets her bask in not memory, but bliss. Yet, she must be quick grabbing little snatches of forgetfulness when she can to tide her over, lest she burn, like so many ashes scattered among the winds.

* * *

Haruko figures that taste doesn't really matter.

For once she has Atomsk's powers within her grasp the burning taste of power will be all she wants to taste and maybe, all she will be able to. Therefore, she tries to prepare and compensate for the want of that power over life by taking part in the spice of life. Curry, her personal choice of substance, her Vespa, going thrice over the speed limit, was the only way to get her heart racing, doing her actual job for the GSPB, only of course if it didn't take her off the scent of her prey. Yet even she needed a break from the game of cat and mouse _or bird_ as the case may be. So ever now and then she would slow down for a bit and catch a nice refreshing glass of water. In other words, trying to live normally, as best as she could, in a, somewhat, average household was just the break she needed. Of course, she could never actually explain this to the ma- no not man- just the boy who was trying to be one. He'd probably look her up and down and call her nuts. Yet, she looks over at her room mate's eyes, blue as the sea, and finds it fitting. Besides she reasons, why tell him anything at all. It does no good to poison the well you drink from.

* * *

Eri wonders at times how someone's taste is defined.

She obviously enough, having completed her education, knew that the tongue had hundreds of bumpy nerve endings, whose job was to then categorize the sense of taste into one 4 categories. They included sweet, sour, salty, and bitter. Then there was spicy, not exactly the taste of something, just its presence, on the other hand things like water were taste_less. _After that it just kept devolving into rather tasty sub divisions. From there, once the clinical information was put aside, she used her brain and her image of herself as a sort of food for thought. She supposed if she were to take this seriously, she would have to identify herself as a rather salty persona. She was the kind of person who always left someone wanting more. More good grades, more acceptance, more bad publicity, more immaturity, more maturity. Just more of anything really, because as she had learned everyone wanted something. Everyone of course but him. He wanted nothing at all from her or anyone for that matter, at first she thought it was sweet, but then Eri found out about _her_, and then _she_ found out about **her**, and then they both left this shell of a man one who had finally lost all of the people he cared about as they drifted away from the little town of Mabase.

Which then left Eri with the difficult task of putting one Naota Nadaba back together. It took some time, but there he was the whole of himself unbroken once more. By that time however they had spent for too much time together and; much like the man who is stranded at sea who finally after much struggling risks a sip of the ocean around him. Never realizing that by doing so he only dooms himself to wanting more and more not aware that what he is drinking causes this and slowly dies of dehydration.

Eri was not stupid enough to believe that she would be the death of Naota, but the comparison is valid she admits as she rubs at the mark on her neck that he had given her this morning. She did not mind though, it was rather refreshing to know that there was someone who cared about her, instead of her accomplishments. At the same time, she questions if she will ever be used to him tasting so bitter.

* * *

**AN: ****This is the result of my lack of recent writing, a stupid plot bunny, and watching FLCL 3 times in 2 weeks. I honestly dont think this long drabble is that good. And the formating needs work, but hey at least I posted something.****  
**


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